


Marriage of Convience

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Businessman Mycroft, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, M/M, Marriage, Oral Sex, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24378667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: When uni student Greg learns he's about to be deported, billionaire Mycroft steps in and offers marriage to keep him in the country.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 18
Kudos: 184





	Marriage of Convience

Sherlock walked into the small flat he shared with Greg Lestrade to find the other young man sitting at his desk, staring in disbelief at an official-looking piece of paper. 

"What is it?" asked Sherlock, closing the door behind him.

"I'm being deported," said Greg, slowly looking up at him. "I'm apparently not actually a UK citizen. My mum never filed the paperwork when we moved here."

Sherlock frowned. "Let me borrow your mobile."

Greg picked up his mobile from the desk and handed it Sherlock, clearly still in shock. Sherlock dialed a number from memory.

"Yes, Sherlock?" Mycroft almost sounded bored. He was very used to getting calls from unknown numbers from whoever Sherlock was borrowing a mobile from at any given time.

"I need a favor," said Sherlock. He could hear Mycroft sitting up a little straighter.

"What do you need?"

"Lestrade is apparently being deported."

"Let me talk to him."

Sherlock handed the phone back to Greg, then went to drop off his bag. As he put the bag down he reflected on the man he'd grown to know over the last year or so. Lestrade actually tolerated him and he'd moved in after Lestrade's last roommate moved out, provided he stay off drugs and go to class. He listened to Greg pace in the other room as he pulled out his books.

Greg stopped pacing, came to the doorway and looked at Sherlock. "That was Mycroft Holmes. You're  _ that  _ Holmes family?"

"Yes. Mycroft is my elder brother."

Greg stared at him a moment longer. "You owe me about twenty quid, then. He just said he would see what he can do."

"Mycroft can do quite a lot." Sherlock knew his family was, well, loaded, to put it mildly. They were very old money and had continued to grow the family fortunes. Mycroft was the fresh face of the family business now that Mummy had retired. "He'll take care of it."

**

Three weeks later there was a knock at the door. Greg was trying to work on a particularly frustrating maths assignment. He threw down his pencil and went to the door, half-expecting someone trying to sell them something. Instead, it was a very posh looking man in a very expensive suit. Even if he hadn't seen Mycroft's face on the telly, there was still enough of Sherlock about him to see the resemblance.

"Greg Lestrade?" he said.

"Yeah. I mean, yes, that's me. Come in?" Greg retreated towards the tiny kitchen to turn on the kettle.

Mycroft stepped into the flat and Greg was suddenly aware that he hadn't given the place a good scrubbing since the semester started. "Have a seat, if you like," said Greg. 

Greg very quickly brought out the tea and put it on the coffee table. 

Mycroft was perched on the edge of the couch, watching him. "I have a way of keeping you in the country, however, I'm not certain you'd find my solution ideal," said Mycroft, getting straight to the point.

"I'd do anything, mate. Er, Mycroft," said Greg.

Mycroft gave him a thin smile. "Would you condescend to marrying me?"

It was a good thing Greg wasn't currently holding anything, because he would almost certainly have dropped it. "Marry you?"

"Yes, I can pull strings and get you fast-tracked, however, they need some sort of proof you intend to stay here long term. Marriage would be the easiest and fastest way and I am single."

Greg opened his mouth and closed it again. He opened it one more time and swallowed. "I'm just a bloke. Don't you have to marry, I don't know, a countess or something?"

Mycroft gave him that thin smile again. "For one thing, I've no interest in any one of the fairer sex. For another, in this day and age I'm free to marry whomever I wish. You would be comfortable and I wouldn't interfere with you completing school and starting your career."

"Yeah, but I'd be married to you," said Greg.

Mycroft looked hurt and Greg quickly tried to correct himself. "I mean, you're a bit of a celebrity, people would know, or at least find out, pretty quickly. No matter what I did people would know we're a couple."

Sighing, Mycroft looked aside and fidgeted with his umbrella. "If you're not comfortable I'm sure I can find someone less... notable that would be willing to marry you."

Greg swallowed hard. "No, I mean. I would marry you, Mycroft. If you want me. I've seen marriages started for worse reasons. I just don't want to hold you back or drag you down."

"Believe me, Greg Lestrade, you would in no way 'hold me back'." Mycroft met his gaze. "I know that being married to me would not be easy. I've rarely made time for any relationships. But you've been the only person able to help Sherlock and if I knew nothing else about you that would be more than enough to win my gratitude."

"May I think it over?" asked Greg. 

Mycroft nodded. "Let me have your mobile?"

Greg grabbed it from the desk and handed it over. 

Mycroft programmed in his number. "Let me know soon. I'm doing what I can to hold up the proceedings, but even I can't stave it off forever." He handed Greg the mobile back. "The fact that you're even willing to stop and think about it means more than you might know. Most would only see the family name and money and throw themselves at me."

"Hence you saying you don't really make time for relationships. I'll let you know within the week, okay?"

"Very well," said Mycroft, getting to his feet. "I'll see about possible contingencies in the meantime. Good luck with your classes."

"Thanks." Greg saw him to the door then sat down at the desk again, letting his head thump against it. Of course he'd marry Mycroft Holmes. He'd be an utter fool not to. And the fact that the man was even more handsome in person didn't hurt a thing.

**

Eight days later Greg stood in front of a magistrate, Mycroft by his side. Sherlock lurked off to the left as well as a woman Mycroft had introduced as his personal assistant. They said their vows, signed the register and the deed was done.

Mycroft leaned in and gave him a bare kiss. "I know you have finals next week. As soon as your classes are done, we'll get some time together and sort things out."

Greg gave him a smile. "Alright. Thank you."

Mycroft smiled back and Greg found himself thinking that Mycroft was rather attractive, underneath the veneer of posh severity.

**

A month after the wedding Mycroft stood on the dock, looking at his yacht. Well, one of his yachts. His favorite, in fact. He'd been trying to think of ways to get Greg alone without utterly overwhelming him and hopefully this would do the trick. A few weeks in the ocean and maybe into the Mediterranean, virtually alone from the world. Time to get to know one another.

So far he'd kept word from leaking out about his hasty marriage, but that would change sooner rather than later, at least if the papers had anything to say about it. Maybe he could at least shield Greg from the worst of it. Though he knew the marriage was done mostly for legal reasons, he couldn't help but feel protective of his new husband.

A car pulled up and the driver opened the door. Greg got out, the warm sunlight catching his hair as he looked around. Mycroft felt a wave of desire. Greg was truly beautiful. He certainly deserved someone better, or at least closer to his own age, but Mycroft would do what he could for him.

He gave Mycroft a smile as he came down the dock. "Good morning."

"Good morning," said Mycroft. He gestured at the ship as a porter walked by them with Greg's bags. "This is my favorite yacht," he said.

Greg's eyes went a little wide, but he quickly schooled his features. "It's gorgeous," he said with wonder in his voice.

"And you haven't seen the inside yet." Mycroft led the way up and onto the deck. "Crew of five, has room for between 8-10 guests. But for now it's just us and Anthea, her wife and the crew."

"Does she always travel with you?" asked Greg. It came out as a genuine question, not an accusation, for which Mycroft was grateful.

"Usually, yes. In truth, she handles much of the day to day operations of my business. You might not see much of them. Anthea knows I want all my focus to be on you."

"Thank you," said Greg as he rubbed the back of his head. "I gotta admit, I wasn't sure what to expect."

"I just hope you're comfortable, and that you know you can talk to me about anything you might have on your mind." Mycroft led Greg into the salon, a large wood-paneled room with overstuffed furniture, a very large television set, and a full dining room complete with candlesticks at the far end. Greg stared, then quickly closed his mouth. "It's lovely," he said.

"Thank you," said Mycroft, leading him past the dining table. "I have an office through that door. The sleeping quarters are through here." He led the way through another door and down a carpeted spiral staircase. At the bottom was a short hall with the same wood paneling and a bit of art on the walls. Mycroft was starting to feel nervous. Maybe this hadn't been a good idea after all. Greg was staring at one of the paintings. 

"Is this a Turner?" he asked.

"Well, not the original, but yes," said Mycroft. He wondered if he should mention where the original was, but thought better of it.

Greg tore his gaze away. "Right. You said staterooms?"

"Yes." Mycroft wet his lips. "I wasn't sure if you wished to share a room with me or not, so this one is yours, if you want it." He opened the door. The room was fairly small, mostly occupied by a large double bed. An open door led to a private bathroom, and sheer curtains hid the dock from view. The porter was finishing up with putting Greg's things away in the closet and gave them a nod.

"My bedroom is here," said Mycroft, leading Greg up to the front of the boat and opening another door. 

This room was larger, though still mostly occupied by a large bed. Mycroft had a few thoughts about that bed and his new husband, but quickly pushed them aside. He had a better view out the windows and a larger bathroom that included a tub as well as a shower.

"Mycroft this is.... a lot," said Greg finally.

Biting his lip, Mycroft took an aborted step towards him. "Too much?" he asked, feeling himself wilt. Maybe this had all been a terrible idea after all.

Greg shook his head. "I... I"ll get used to it," he said, reaching out to touch Mycroft's hand. "Just give me some time, yeah?"

Mycroft tingled at the touch, but Greg pulled his hand away again and stuffed it in his pocket.

Taking a breath, Mycroft gave him a smile. "Come on back up on deck. We can watch as the ship leaves port."

Greg nodded and followed him back up the stairs, this time going to the top deck where a large sofa looked out over the marina. Mycroft took a seat and Greg followed suit. A stewardess appeared and brought them drinks, then vanished as quickly as she'd appeared.

Mycroft saw Greg still looked ill at ease, but he started to relax as he sipped his drink. Maybe this would all be okay, after all.

**

By sunset they were well off the coast. The same woman came and pulled out a table for them, dropping off more drinks. A short while later, Anthea came on deck with another woman on her arm. "Greg, this is Anthea and Michelle," said Mycroft.

"Pleased to meet you," said Greg, shaking their hands. Dinner was quickly served on the top deck, with the coast of England just visible off to one side. 

Mycroft was feeling pleasantly buzzed and it seemed like Greg was more relaxed, too. Michelle was good at carrying a conversation and she got Greg to open up a bit more, asking him about his plans and school work.

Eventually Anthea and Michelle bade them goodnight and headed back into the ship. Mycroft finished his own drink and stood, slightly unsteady, and not just because of the ship's movement. "I think I'll go to my room and watch a film. Would you care to join me?"

"In a bit," said Greg. "I'm enjoying the view."

"Alright," said Mycroft, boldly leaning in to kiss Greg's cheek before carefully making his way down the stairs. He slipped his shoes off and climbed into his big bed. He rolled onto his side and grabbed a pillow to hug, falling asleep before he could even think about turning on the television.

**

Greg stayed out on deck for a little while longer, hoping the sea air would help clear his head. When it didn't seem to help much he headed back into the ship. He'd like to take a look around, but maybe later. After all, they'd have plenty of time.

When he reached the hall he noticed Mycroft's door wasn't fully closed. Frowning slightly, Greg made his way down, thinking he'd close it.

But when he looked in he saw Mycroft asleep on his side, snoring as he clutched a pillow. Maybe it was the drinks or the dim light, but Mycroft looked much younger like this. Vulnerable.

Biting his lip, Greg stepped into the room and quietly closed the door behind him. They were married, after all, and he should do something besides gawp.

Greg climbed into the bed. Mycroft muttered something and flopped onto his back. Greg tossed the pillow back towards the head of the bed and curled up on Mycroft's chest. Quite comfortable, really. Maybe he could get used to this.

**

Mycroft woke up with a bit of a headache. He stretched, only to realize he wasn't alone. Greg was curled up against him. Gently, Mycroft touched Greg's cheek. At least they were both dressed, so likely nothing untoward had happened in the night. He might need to have a word with the staff about putting less alcohol in the drinks.

Greg stirred at his touch, blinking a few times and then breaking into a smile as he looked up at Mycroft. "Good morning."

Mycroft chuckled. "Good morning," he said, leaning in for a kiss.

He felt Greg hesitate, then kiss him back. Mycroft frowned and pulled away. "I apologize," he said, turning away.

"No, I mean, it's fine. We are married," said Greg.

"Yes, but I don't want you to do anything you aren't comfortable with."

He heard Greg shift behind him, and then the younger man put a hand on his shoulder. "Nobody really sees you, do they?" he asked quietly.

"What do you mean?" said Mycroft, deliberately trying to ignore the question.

Greg sighed and dropped his hand. "You're more than just a face on the telly."

Mycroft turned towards him. "You're interested in more than my money. That's rare."

"You're lonely," said Greg.

Mycroft shrugged. "I have all of this, why should I complain?"

Greg covered his hand with his own. "Would you let me in? Maybe we can... at least be friends?"

Mycroft gave him a small, sad smile. "I see what Sherlock saw in you. I can count on one hand the number of times he’s asked me for a true favor."

"Sherlock doesn't like talking about his family, never has. Now I know why. I suppose I just sort of thought he was an orphan like me. Men like you don't just appear in my life and sweep me off my feet. I feel rather like Cinderella, or something."

"Like I said, if it's too much or you're not comfortable, we can make other arrangements. I know what I am," said Mycroft. "And I'm certainly nothing to look at."

Greg scoffed. "You've got eyes like the sea."

"And you've got eyes that remind me of the Highlands in fall." Mycroft reached out to touch his cheek.

Greg rubbed against his hand. "One step at a time, yeah?"

Mycroft nodded. "I can do that."

"I know. And the fact that you're willing to try means a lot. You're not just tossing me into bed and buggering me like you own me."

Mycroft felt stricken. "I would never!” He recoiled back. "Is that really what you expected?"

"Feared maybe, but, no. That isn't who you are, and I think I really knew that or I would never have accepted. Still, means everything to have found I was right to trust you. I like what I've seen so far and I want to get to know you better." Greg turned his head to kiss Mycroft's hand. "Now, I assume there's breakfast somewhere on this boat?"

Mycroft smiled, relieved. "Of course."

**

Greg watched Mycroft as they spent the rest of the day together, talking quietly on the sofa overlooking the ocean for a while, then sitting in the salon to watch a movie. Mycroft relaxed as the day went on, gave Greg a few more genuine smiles. It felt good, grounding, that deep down Mycroft was a regular guy who just happened to be from one of the wealthiest families in England.

** 

A week into the trip, Anthea came to Mycroft with urgent business. Mycroft apologized and Greg gave him an encouraging smile and promised he wasn't going anywhere, especially given that they were currently out of sight of land. 

Mycroft vanished into his office. Greg watched him go, then slumped back on the sofa. The last few days had been like a dream and he kept wondering when he'd wake up. The second night he'd tried to sleep in his own stateroom, but had given up after just a short while. It felt better to sleep by Mycroft's side.

And Mycroft had been nothing but a gentleman. But if he was honest, Greg was growing a bit bored. He had no idea where Michelle was hiding, so he figured now was the time to really go exploring.

The boat wasn't that big, but Greg knew he hadn't seen every nook and cranny. The other day he had spotted a door cleverly hidden as a wall. Probably that was the staff spaces and he should stay away, but curiosity got the better of him and he carefully opened it.

These walls were stark white, in sharp contrast to the luxurious wood paneling of the rest of the ship. He could smell something cooking and quietly moved down the hall, nearly colliding with the young woman that usually brought them their meals and drinks.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir. Did you need something?" she asked, quickly stepping aside.

"I was just wondering what was down here," said Greg, giving her a quick smile. "Also, I'm sorry, what was your name?"

"Anya," she said. "And this is the crew area."

"Not very big, is it?" asked Greg, looking around.

Anya shrugged. "It's fine. Would you like to see the kitchen or anything?"

"Sure," said Greg.

Anya led him down the short corridor. Greg caught a glimpse of bunks through an open door, and then they were in a small space with the expected kitchen gadgets along one wall and a table against the other. An older woman was standing at the stove while a woman and man closer to Anya’s age at the table sat and played cards. They both looked up and tried to stand quickly when they spotted Greg.

"No, no it's fine," said Greg quickly. 

"He just wanted to look around," said Anya. "This is Maria and Peter, they're the ship's engineers." 

"We were just taking a short break, sir, we can get back to the engine room," said Maria, starting to move.

"No, you don't have to. Nothing needs your immediate attention, right?"

The woman who had been cooking turned and put a small plate in front of an empty spot at the table and looked at Greg. "Eat," she said.

Greg knew better than to argue with that tone. He sat down and gave Maria and Peter a smile. "Been working here long?" he asked.

"A few years, yes," said Maria. Peter took the cards and shuffled them. The cook put more plates down for the others and went back to her work.

"Sorry, this is all very new to me," said Greg, eating his food, something he didn't quite recognize but as delicious as anything else he'd eaten on board.

"Do you play cards?" asked Peter.

"Sometimes, yeah. Deal me in?" said Greg.

**

Mycroft emerged from his office with a headache and a well-secured deal. Anthea was finishing up the paperwork and gave him a sympathetic look. "Why don't you take a rest," she said.

"That's what this whole trip was supposed to be about," said Mycroft irritably. 

"You know how he is," said Anthea, knowing the irritation wasn't aimed at her. "I'll make sure he knows you're very displeased."

"Thank you," said Mycroft, rubbing his temples and stepping into the salon.

Greg wasn't there, so Mycroft headed up to the top deck. He frowned as there was no sign of him. Starting to worry, he headed back into the ship and checked his own stateroom, then knocked on Greg's door. He went back up to the salon and found the stewardess setting the table. "Have you seen Greg?" he asked.

She hesitated before answering. "He's in the kitchen," she said.

Mycroft's eyebrow made a break for his hairline. "The kitchen?"

"Yes, sir." She put down her work. "Shall I fetch him for you?"

"No, no, I'll go myself."

Mycroft headed down and carefully pushed open the door. He'd only really been down here when the captain needed something urgently or when he was inspecting the ship before it left port. He quickly went down the small hallway and then stopped short at the sight of Greg playing cards with a young woman.

"Oh, Mycroft," smiled Greg.

The young woman looked between them, then ducked her head and quickly made her way out of the kitchen without a word.

Greg frowned after her.

"What are you doing?" asked Mycroft.

"I was playing cards, but it seems you scared Maria off," said Greg, collecting the deck and putting it into its holder.

"You shouldn't be in here," said Mycroft. "This is for staff."

Greg frowned and got to his feet. "These people keep your ship running."

"Yes. Staff." Mycroft turned to walk out of the space, hoping Greg would follow.

He did, though Greg was obviously unhappy. Still he waited until they were outside before speaking again. "What's wrong with having a card game and a chat with your staff?" he asked.

"That is their space. I don't enter it because I respect their privacy," said Mycroft. 

"Do you respect their privacy or is it you don't want to see how the sausage is made?" asked Greg, crossing his arms.

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose, his headache only growing worse by the moment. "I am well aware of how reliant I am on them, Greg," he said, taking a deep breath. How did he explain that there were certain lines that just shouldn't be crossed?

"Look, you were busy, I didn't feel like watching telly, I thought I'd see what was on the rest of the ship. What's wrong with that?"

"That's not how this works," said Mycroft.

Greg stared at him a moment longer, then turned away. "I'm not like you, Mycroft. I wasn't born into this upper-class bullshit." He opened the door and stepped back into the hallway. "Enjoy your dinner, I won't be there," he said.

Mycroft watched him go, then leaned his head against the wall of the ship, considering crawling into bed and staying there until they could get to port and he could let Greg off. He must have been a fool to think this could ever work.

**

Hunger and a sense of propriety drove Mycroft to take a few deep breaths and sit down at the dining room table, where Anthea and Michelle were already waiting for him. "Greg was feeling unwell," he lied.

Anthea and Michelle shared a look, but said nothing as they were served.

Mycroft barely tasted the food or the wine, excusing himself as soon as he could and retreating back to his room.

**

Greg was still glowering at the ceiling when there was a knock on the door. It was quieter than he'd expect from Mycroft, so he rolled to his feet and went to answer it, surprised to find Michelle on his doorstep. 

"We should talk," she said.

Greg blinked and stepped back to let her in. "About what?"

"You and Mycroft had a fight," said Michelle, taking a seat without being asked.

Greg stuffed his hands in his pockets. "It was stupid. He didn't like that I spent the afternoon in the staff kitchen."

"It's not stupid, there is, in fact, a rather good reason for it," said Michelle.

"What, I shouldn't linger with the 'lessers'?" growled Greg.

"There's something of an unwritten social contract," said Michelle. "Believe me, Mycroft is very careful not to mistreat anyone who works under him and doesn't tolerate anyone else who might. He pays very well, and while he's stand-offish he does tend to engender unusual loyalty, because those who work for him, especially those who work for him directly, know that he will protect them and their families to a degree most wouldn't bother with. I've seen him anonymously help out a staff member's grandparent simply because he could. Most people who rise to his position are only out for themselves."

"He didn't rise to anything. He was born into it," said Greg.

"Yes. And he could have chosen to do something else. You're well-acquainted with his little brother."

Greg sighed and scrubbed his face in his hands. "He didn't have to marry me. He could have let me just get deported. Or found someone else willing to get hitched. But he married me himself."

"Married you and then arranged for this trip with you," said Michelle. "It's the first proper vacation I've seen him take in three years. Generally he feels like he always needs to be working, as if he's still trying to prove himself, despite what he's accomplished."

"So, what, me hanging out with the staff hurt his feelings?" asked Greg.

Michelle inclined her head. "Perhaps that's part of it. As I said, he always keeps himself aloof. From everyone. Most folks like him wouldn't interact with their staff and the staff would expect them to keep out of their business unless it impacted the family somehow. I know it's not 1908 anymore, but for a family like his, that's still how things are run. It’s for their safety as well ours."

Greg scrubbed his face in his hands. He supposed it made sense. Someone from the family would have the greater power in any relationship with their staff. He sighed. "I'm just a bloke from a poor neighborhood that got dropped into all of this. We never had much, and what we had, we earned."

Michelle got to her feet and squeezed his shoulder. "Talk to him," she suggested. "I think that he truly does want you to be happy. He had a rough afternoon and he didn't like that it took time away from what he'd promised you."

Greg looked up at her. "I will," he promised. 

"Good. Have a good night." Michelle let herself out.

Greg looked at the door, then stepped into his bathroom and took a quick, cold shower. When he finished he got dressed again and looked at himself in the mirror. Right, talk to his husband. He could do that.

It was only a few short steps to the other door. Greg knocked, but when there wasn't an answer right away, he pushed it open.

Mycroft was curled up in bed, once again wrapped around a pillow and facing away from the door. He shifted and sat up when Greg stepped in, looking vulnerable. "Greg?" he asked quietly, then cleared his throat. "I can have you returned to England in a day or so," he said.

"I don't want you to do that," said Greg, closing the door and crossing to him. "You weren't looking for an argument earlier."

Mycroft sighed and looked down at his hands. "I was worried when I couldn't find you," he admitted.

"And that was after a rough bit of work, yeah?" Greg brushed his curl back from his forehead.

"I shouldn't complain," said Mycroft quietly.

Greg settled next to him and loosely put his arms around Mycroft. "I want to be where you can rest your burdens. Just because you've got money and all of this doesn't mean you can't be sad and lonely."

"More than you know," said Mycroft quietly.

"If you need me to stay out of the staff rooms, I will," said Greg.

"You're free to go where you wish," said Mycroft. "At least on this ship. Once we're back in England I'm afraid you might have something of a security detail. The news just broke that I got married." He handed Greg his mobile so he could see the headline. "I'm sorry."

Greg barely glanced at it. "It was going to happen eventually." He looked at Mycroft, then leaned in to kiss him. "We might have gone at this from an unusual way, but I do care about you."

"And I care about you," said Mycroft, squeezing his hand. "I... don't do this. I don't let people get close, and yet, I close my eyes and it's you I see."

Greg smiled. "You're secretly a romantic, aren't you?"

Mycroft tilted his head against Greg's. "Don't tell anyone."

"That's between us."

**

Another few days later and Mycroft anxiously stood on deck as they pulled into a dock in Spain. His parents had insisted on coming on board to meet his new husband and, no doubt, to admonish him for not telling them about it sooner. In most families of their status they’d be livid that he hadn’t asked permission, but thankfully, they’d never been ‘most families’.

Greg stood by his side, a steadying hand in the small of his back. Ridiculous how much he'd come to rely on him so quickly, and yet he had and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

_ Oh God, Mum and Dad were standing on the dock. _

"Mycroft," called Mummy, sweeping on board as soon as the gangplank touched down.

Mycroft hurried to meet her. "Mummy, hello. This is Greg Lestrade, Greg, my mother."

"Pleased to meet you," said Greg, offering his hand.

Mummy swept him into a fierce hug, then let him go. "Well, Mycroft, when I heard you'd gone and gotten married, I had to meet him." She eyed them both critically. "But you haven't even consummated the marriage yet!"

Mycroft turned scarlet, coughing as he turned his head. "Yes, well, come on in," he said, leading them into the salon, going straight to the sideboard and pouring himself a drink, downing it before pouring drinks for the others.

Greg, bless him, came to his side and put his hand on the small of his back again, kissing his cheek and picking up two of the glasses, handing them to Mum and Dad. Dad had followed slowly in his wife's wake and was now settling into a chair. "Nice to meet you," he said politely to Greg.

"And you," said Greg, coming back to check on Mycroft before perching in a seat.

"So how did you meet?" asked Mummy.

"Ah, well Sherlock introduced us," said Greg quickly. "We just hit it off from there."

Mummy looked him over. "You're still in university?"

"For now," said Greg. "We hadn't really discussed that, yet."

"Well, of course you can have a position in the company," said Mummy, sipping her drink and relaxing in her seat.

Mycroft took a breath. "Greg might not be interested in that," he said, sitting next to Greg.

"Well, why wouldn't he?"

"Because  _ he _ has other interests," said Greg. "I’m training to be a police officer."

Mummy looked at him. "Perhaps a position in the security division, if you insist on working."

"We can discuss that later," said Mycroft, cutting in before they could argue further. "We were enjoying our honeymoon."

"Not enough, apparently," huffed Mummy.

Mycroft threw back the rest of his drink and started to get up for a third one. Greg put a hand on his shoulder and nudged him back down.

"Mrs. Holmes, what we do or don't do with our time is frankly none of your business," said Greg.

The salon was so quiet they could have heard a pin drop. Mycroft clutched his glass as Greg and Mummy stared at one another.

Dad cleared his throat. "Mycroft, why don't you and I go out to the deck."

Mycroft nodded and got up, following Dad outside, feeling guilty about leaving Greg with Mummy, but glad to get the fresh air.

"Are you happy?" asked Dad.

Mycroft nodded and leaned against the railing. "I think so," he said quietly. “No one ever asks me about my happiness. It seems strange to think about it like that, but yes, I am.”

"Then don't let your mother get under your skin. You know she wants what's best for you."

Mycroft ran his hands through his hair. "Thank you for coming."

Dad squeezed his shoulder. "I would have liked to have been there when you got married, but I understand why you did things quietly."

"It needed to be done fairly quickly, too," admitted Mycroft. "But he really seems to enjoy my company, and we've become, well, friends, I think."

"Good, Mycie. You need more friends."

**

"Why did you marry my son?" asked Mrs. Holmes once Mycroft and his father had left the room.

"He asked me to," said Greg, sipping his drink.

"He's never met you before a few months ago. What was the real reason?" she asked.

"Maybe you should ask your son," said Greg.

Mrs. Holmes narrowed her eyes. "If you break his heart, they'll never find the body."

"Maybe you should look in the mirror," said Greg.

She sat up. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Do you honestly care about him? Or me? Or are you just worried that he's making you look bad?"

"How dare you," hissed Mrs. Holmes.

Greg put his drink down and gave her a smile. "He's my husband and my friend. And I will do whatever I think is best for him and for me. And I don't give a damn about what you or anyone else thinks."

With that, Greg turned on his heel and walked out, finding Mycroft with his father. Mycroft looked marginally more relaxed. His father looked between them, then stepped back into the salon.

"I may have just told your mother off," said Greg, ducking his head sheepishly.

Mycroft looked at him, then broke into a soft smile. He leaned in to kiss his cheek. "Thank you," he said.

Greg shrugged. "Family can be difficult, I'm sure it's worse with money involved."

"At least she can't disown me. There's no one else to carry on the family business."

"Even if she did, I think we might just make do, said Greg, squeezing his hand. "I've got lots of practice at not having much."

"I think we'll be fine. Mummy's meddling or not."

"So do I."

**

Mummy and Dad stayed for dinner. It was a tense affair, but no worse than many of the other dinners they'd had through the years. They left just afterward and Mycroft was relieved that they hadn't decided to accompany them for longer.

After Mycroft had seen them off, he went back to his room, finding Greg lounging in the bed. "How did your mum know we hadn't, er, done the deed?" Greg asked.

Mycroft bit his lip. "I've never, actually," he said. "I suppose she would have seen something different in me if I had."

Greg sat up. "Never?"

Mycroft shook his head, not quite looking at him. "I don't... I can't get close to people."

Greg picked up his hand and kissed his knuckles. "Do you trust me?"

Mycroft lifted his gaze to meet Greg's and nodded. "I do."

Greg leaned in and kissed him gently. "I want to. Not just because I think I owe you or something. But because it's you." Greg put a hand over Mycroft's heart.

"I believe you," said Mycroft softly. He hesitated, then reached for the hem of Greg's shirt.

Greg helped him peel it off. "No need to rush. We've got all the time in the world," he said quietly, reaching for Mycroft's shirt in return.

“But I want you,” said Mycroft. His breath caught as Greg bared his chest and lay him back on the bed. He smiled that warm smile that made Mycroft's heart flip, leaning in to kiss him again. Mycroft kissed him back, hand coming up to tangle in the hair at the nape of Greg's neck.

They came up for air an eternity later, Mycroft feeling faintly dazed as Greg looked down at him and stroked his cheek.

"I love you," said Mycroft softly.

Greg looked surprised, then his smile turned even brighter. "Love you too. You're a good man, Mycroft." He kissed Mycroft again, smoothing a hand down his chest, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

Mycroft moaned softly as Greg's hand ghosted over the bulge in his trousers. "Please," Mycroft whispered, not quite sure what he was even asking for.

Fortunately, Greg clearly knew what he was doing. He popped open Mycroft's flies and drew him out, giving him a slow stroke.

Mycroft groaned and arched into his touch. 

Greg leaned in to kiss him again, stroking Mycroft's cock as he all but writhed under his hand. Nothing had ever felt so good, certainly not his own fumbling in the dark.

Nipping at Mycroft's lip, Greg pulled back and shifted to pull down Mycroft's trousers and pants, baring him completely. "Gorgeous," he said, kneeling between Mycroft's calves, glancing up at Mycroft's face, and then wrapped his mouth around his cock, bobbing his head.

Mycroft cried out and came all at once, overwhelmed. Greg didn't seem to mind, swallowing his release and holding his hips.

Groaning, Mycroft threw an arm over his eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Greg smiled. "It's fine. Always fast the first time."

Mycroft moved his arm and saw Greg wiping his mouth with a hungry look in his eyes.

"It's fine. Really," said Greg, shimmying out of his own bottoms. "Do you want to try it?"

Mycroft nodded. Greg sat at the head of the bed and guided Mycroft to his cock. He'd certainly seen this often enough in porn, but it was a whole different experience to feel the weight of Greg on his tongue.

"Yeah, Mycroft, like that," said Greg, groaning quietly as Mycroft dipped his head.

Mycroft listened to Greg and felt his body move underneath his hands, using his reactions to make small adjustments, thrilling at knowing he was bringing Greg joy.

Greg gently encouraged him back just as Mycroft's jaw started to ache. "Watch me," he said quietly, stroking himself.

Mycroft wet his lips as Greg's hand sped along his cock. Greg groaned and came, slumping back against the headboard.

Without hesitation, Mycroft leaned down and licked the head of Greg's cock, loving the taste of him, making him twitch with oversensitivity.

Greg reached out to cup the back of Mycroft's head, drawing him into a deep kiss, plundering his mouth. He wrapped an arm around Mycroft's waist and rolled them over.

Mycroft looped his arms around Greg's shoulders, satisfied in a way that he never knew was possible. Greg's kisses turned gentle and eventually they fell asleep tangled in one another's arms.

**

Greg woke first in the morning, finding himself rather sticky and with Mycroft curled tightly around him. His heart ached as he looked at his husband, for the first time truly letting the weight of that word settle in his bones.

He brushed Mycroft's hair back and kissed his temple, wanting nothing less or more than to keep loving him for the rest of their lives. There were a lot of challenges still ahead, but they'd face them down. Together.

Carefully, Greg eased himself out of Mycroft's grip and made his way into the en suite. He turned on the shower and did his business, brushing his teeth before stepping under the hot spray.

He smiled as Mycroft joined him just a minute or so later, wrapping himself around Greg's back. "Morning," he mumbled, clearly not fully awake.

"Good morning," said Greg, feeling Mycroft's interest stirring against him.

"I never knew that anything could be like this," said Mycroft quietly.

"I really didn't, either," said Greg.

"I was okay?" asked Mycroft, voice sounding small.

Greg turned in Mycroft's arms and kissed him. "You are wonderful."

Mycroft smiled against his kiss. "May I wash you?" he asked.

"I'd love that," 

Greg closed his eyes as Mycroft picked up the soap and gently cleaned his skin. It felt like a benediction, a blessing of tenderness and love under Mycroft's light touch.

When Mycroft finished Greg took the soap from him and they traded places. He followed his fingertips with soft kisses to Mycroft's shoulders.

Mycroft turned the water off once they were both clean. He turned and kissed Greg. "You make me happier than I ever thought possible," he said.

Greg kissed him back. "I'm glad."

Mycroft held his hand and helped him out of the shower. Mycroft pulled on a robe and handed one to Greg. They went out to eat breakfast in the sunlight. There were still challenges to be faced and things that needed sorting, but Greg knew that they'd deal with it together, no matter what might come.

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to theartstudentyouhate and astudyinfic for reading along and encouraging and Beltainefaerie for the quick beta. You can find me on twitter and tumblr at merindab


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